


a hephaestus christmas carol

by zeitgeistofnow



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Happy Ending, M/M, Some angst, i guess, minkowski worries about being like Kepler, parody charles dickens 'christmas carol'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: minkowski doesn't like christmas much, it brings back bad memories, so why should she be forced to celebrate it, all the way up here, in space, where there are no store signs to remind her of it constantly? why shouldn't she be able to treat it as just another day? and what the hell areghostsdoing in her private quarters?





	a hephaestus christmas carol

“Now, guys, I know that it’s christmas tomorrow, and you can have some extra time off-” Minkowski squeezes two finger together to emphasize that there will not be _much_ time off. “-and I _will not_ tolerate any christmas carols on this station.”

Eiffel, who had been whistling Silent Night under his breath, hopped backwards, put his hands behind his back and begun whistling tunelessly.

Minkowski spared him an exasperated glance, and he raised both hands. “I didn’t do anything, Commander.”

Jacobi picks up the song where Eiffel left off, perching just out of Minkowski’s reach. “C’mon, Commander. You can’t say no to christmas carols on _christmas eve._ ”

“I can, and I will. I am your commanding officer, and one of my responsibilities is to keep everyone sane. Including myself.”

Lovelace sips her non-coffee, grimacing at the bitterness. She makes a point not to engage in the argument, shrugging when Eiffel and Jacobi look at her for support.

Kepler, handcuffed to a chair, sighs almost wistfully. “Remember the christmas of 2012, Jacobi?”

“Shut up,” Jacobi replies automatically. “And yes,” he says begrudgingly. “That was nice.”

Eiffel narrows his eyes for a second, then grins at Minkowski. “But it’s my _birthday,_ Commander.”

“It’s not your birthday yet, Eiffel.”

“But-”

“This is final, Eiffel.”

“Minkowski-”

“Eiffel.” Minkowski stares at him. “No christmas carols.”

Eiffel crosses his arms and floats away from her, grumbling under his breath.

“Goodnight, everyone,” Minkowski says as she floats toward the door- and her quarters. She pecks Lovelace’s cheek as she passes, and Lovelace manages a tight smile in return.

“‘Night, commander.” Jacobi salutes her and she rolls her eyes.

 

Minkowski dreams about Kepler that night, and it’s awful. Not just because, well, it’s Kepler, but because she’s not sure it’s a dream. She doesn’t think she ever nodded off.

“Minkowski!” he greets cheerfully. He looks like a bag of flour was dumped on his head, and she’d think it was an elaborate prank, except there’s no flour left on the station.

“Are you a ghost?” Minkowski unzips herself from the bed.

“Depends. Am I dead yet?”

“Sadly, no.” She bounds over to him and looks at his eye. “What are you, then?”

Kepler wiggles his finger in front of her face. “A warning.”

“No, seriously. Did Jacobi put you up to this? Eiffel? Are you some weird hallucination brought on by the star?”

“I’m… a… warning, Commander.”

Minkowski leaned forward on her elbow. “Go on then, warn me.”

“You’re supposed to be scared.”

Minkowski barks a laugh. “You think I’m going to be scared of you? An apparition of some manipulative colonel?”

“I’m a ghost. Weren’t you scared of ghosts?”

“When I was seven, maybe. I’m not scared of anything now.”

Ghost-Kepler smiles wickedly. “See. Now that’s where you’re wrong. You’re scared of something, and I know what it is.”

Minkowski doesn’t say anything.

“You’re scared of becoming like me.”

Minkowski still doesn’t say anything.

Kepler grins delightedly. “I knew it! You think I’m awful. And truly, I don’t blame you. I’m sure that if my past self saw me now, he would think I’m terrible.” Kepler doesn’t appear to care about this. “My leadership techniques, how I relate to Jacobi, everything would repulse him. I was like you, Commander. I wanted to make a difference.”

Minkowski backs away from him.

“The first step to not becoming like me is to celebrate christmas with the crew,” Kepler concludes.

Minkowski laughs. “Eiffel put you up to this, didn’t he.”

“Eiffel’s not insane enough to talk to ghosts. And he and Jacobi hate me a tad too much.” Kepler stares off into the wall. Maybe he can see something else there. Minkowski doesn’t know. “We used to celebrate christmas on the Uraina. We’d get presents and everything. New computer codes from Maxwell, stuff to explode for Jacobi. It was great. Then there was stuff to do. We had missions. We always had missions, but now, it seemed like there wasn’t enough time to celebrate.” Ghost-Kepler blinks. “Of course, there was plenty of time. It just didn’t seem like it.”

Minkowski was not prepared for this- whatever it was.

“No, there isn't  _time._ I don’t know, maybe the Uraina wasn’t constantly falling apart on you, but the Hephaestus is. We don’t have _time_ for celebrations,” she insisted.

Kepler smiled slowly. “It’s your demise, Minkowski. I’m just suggesting.” he shrugs. “There’ll be some more ghosts, or whatever.” he waves cheerily, fading away into nothing. “Have fun!”

Minkowski stares at the place where he had stood.

 

The first ghost comes at on-ship time one in the morning, and Minkowski shoots awake when she hears footsteps. It’s a short girl, with dark curls and a dark blue nightgown.

Minkowski looks down at her. Gravity seems to be affecting the little girl, and her feet rest soundly on the floor. “Hello.”

“Hello,” the girl responds. “I can’t hear you.”

Minkowski’s brow furrows. “You can’t-”

“I can’t _hear_ you,” she repeats, louder. “I can’t hear anything.”

Minkowski frowns. She learned sign language ages ago, when she took the Goddard Language Crash Course, and had invested a bit more time in sign language than the others.

 _Is this better?_ She signs.

The girl breaths a sigh of relief. _Much better._ She signs back. Her hands move quicker than Minkowski’s.

 _Who are you?_ Minkowski asks.

 _A-N-N-E,_ the girl spells.

 _M-I-N-K-O-W-S-K-I,_ Minkowski responds, but her mind is somewhere else. _Where’s your dad?_

The girl stops, and thinks. _...gone,_ she signs slowly. _I don’t know._

Shit.

Anne takes Minkowski’s hand. _Not why I’m here,_ she signs, _Show you the past now._

_The past?_

The girl nods in confirmation, then waves a hand, and Minkowski’s quarters disappear. In its place is a cheerful living room: a christmas tree in one corner, and a younger Minkowski in an armchair. Her favorite chair, soft with wide arms. She’s grinning at a man strumming a ukulele, playing nothing in particular, and singing ‘Jingle Bells’ out of tune.

“Dominik,” she breathes. The little girl stands at her side, watching the scene.

Dominik finishes the chorus, and looks up at past-Minkowski. “So, Renee. Think I have a chance at that singing competition?”

Past-Minkowski grins even wider. “About as much as I do of going to space.”

Minkowski winces at the irony.

Anne looks up at her. _So?_

_What?_

_I don’t know what is happening._ Anne spreads her arms in a gesture to encompass all of it.

_That’s me when I was younger. And my husband._

Anee surveys the scene again. _You look happy._

_I was happy._

Anne hums for a moment, then waves her hand again. It’s the same living room, but more pictures, more stuff, and more tension.

This Minkowski isn’t grinning. This Dominik isn’t either.

“I have to go, Dominik.”

“You never have to do anything, Renee.” Dominik always insisted on free will.

“We need the money.” Minkowski can remember this argument, can remember doing her best not to explode with _this is my dream._

“The money won’t do any good if you’re off in a spaceship somewhere.”

“It’s a once in a lifetime offer.”

“But what if it ends yours?”

“It won’t,” Past-Minkowski says, sounding more sure than Minkowski knows she was.

Dominik sighs. “If you want to do, I can’t stop you.”

Past-Minkowski lets out a sigh of relief.

No. No, no no. Dominik should have insisted on her stay with him. He should have stood his ground, should have looked out for her, should have protected her, should have-

 _You wish you had stayed,_ Anne observes. Minkowski looks down at her. She had forgotten the girl was there.

_I wish he had stopped me._

_No. It wasn’t his job._

_It was!_

Anne looks Minkowski in the eye. _Do you think it was my job to talk my father out of what he did?_

 _That’s different-_ Anne puts her hands over Minkowski’s, then takes them back.

_It really isn’t._

Minkowski takes one last look at past-Minkowski and Dominik, frozen in an awkward almost-hostile pose. _I don’t want to do this. Take me back to the ship._

_No._

_What?_

Anne shakes her head. _No,_ she repeats. _But we can leave them,_ she signs, gesturing to the two, still frozen.

Minkowski nods. She takes another glance at the frozen two, and feels tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

 _Please,_ she signs, not looking at Anne.

Anne waves her arms again. It’s another christmas scene, but not one that she’s seen. It’s not from her life.

 _This isn’t me,_ she signs.

Anne giggles, a little girl giggle. _Not everything is about you._

The room in devoid of people, with a fake tree that’s not even pretending to be real, shiny silver. There are presents under the tree, badly wrapped, and three armchairs that bring to mind goldilocks and the three bears.

 _No one here,_ Minkowski signs quizzically.

 _Wait,_ Anne holds up a hand.

There are murmurs from the doorways, and Kepler, Jacobi, and Maxwell walk in. Minkowski groans, ready to be subjected to Kepler trying to control christmas, in his usual manner.

Instead, they’re eating christmas cookies. The frosting is dark green, almost black, and there’s neon green decals on it. Jacobi’s holding seven in his left hand and four in his right, and in the process of eating a twelfth. Maxwell has one and a cup of coffee, and Kepler has two, one in each hand. He looks disgusted by Jacobi’s excess.

“Jacobi, are you sure you need that many-” he protests.

Jacobi grins around his cookie. “It’s a once a year opportunity. I’d like to reap the benefits of Maxwell and I’s work.”

“Mostly my work,” Maxwell points out.

“I helped test the batter,” Jacobi says righteously.

Minkowski stares, then takes a step back. “They can’t see me, can they?”

Anne stare up at her, and Minkowski shuffles her hands: _they can’t see me?_

_No._

Minkowski walks over to Jacobi, who’s perched on the arm of Kepler’s chair, patiently listening to one of his stories. She peers at him. He looks adoring, in love enough that he can pretend to be interested in Kepler’s tale. The scene freezes.

 _He looks in love._ She signs, turning to Anne.

Anne shrugs. _Probably was. Kepler wasn’t always awful._

A thought occurred to Minkowski. _How do you know who Kepler was?_

 _I’m not actually Anne, obviously. Anne’s not dead yet._ The girl shrugs. _But it made sense for me to be Anne for now._

Minkowski suddenly feels very tired. _Take me back. Please._

 _Fine._ Anne waves her hand again, and they’re back at the station. Anne hugs Minkowski, and then fade away. Minkowski sits down heavily on the ground and stares at the wall.

She’s not sure if she can survive a night of this.

 

The next ghost is Eiffel, and he comes at 2 in the morning, holding a bag of real coffee grounds and wearing a dark green velveteen coat.

“Hey, Commander.”

“Hello,” she says, trying to be pleasant, but coming off passive aggressive.

“You’ve probably figured out I’m not really Eiffel, haven’t you? All of this ghostly-spirit moobly-goo tipped you off.”

“Present, right.” Minkowski nods. She knows what’s happening, for once in her life.

“You’re smart, Commander.” Eiffel grabs her arm. “Come on.”

He doesn’t wave a hand, like Anne did, just squeezes Minkowski’s arm, and where they are changes. They’re in Kepler’s holding cell with Jacobi and Kepler. Neither of them is moving.

“This is tomorrow,” Eiffel says. “Well, later today, now.”

Minkowski nods. “It’s follow up on what Anne showed me.”

She knows for certain that it’s not really Eiffel. He doesn’t react to the name.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Follow up.” He snaps. Jacobi lets out a shaky breath.

“Eiffel let me in,” he says. “He said that I deserved to see you on christmas, at least.”

Kepler nods. “Nice of you to take him up on his offer.”

Jacobi’s face hardens. “This isn’t for you. This is for Alana.”

“Maxwell?”

“Her,” Jacobi confirms, impatient. “Last christmas, we were with her. Me and her made a pie.”

“I remember,” Kepler doesn’t betray any emotion, and Minkowski wants to punch him.

“You threw it out the airlock,” Jacobi continued, “and said that just because it was christmas, didn’t mean we could mess around.”

“Yes.”

“That was wrong of you.”

Kepler looks up, finally. “Why are you doing this? Minkowski isn’t any better.”

Minkowski scowls and Jacobi nods slowly.

“Maybe she isn’t.” he pauses, thinking. “Maybe she isn’t, but that doesn't make you good.”

Kepler leans back. “Are you just here to chide me?”

Jacobi blinks, straightens, and shakes his head. “No. I want you to say you’re sorry.”

“What?”

“As a christmas present. Say it.” Jacobi crosses his arms.

“What are you going to get me?”

“I don’t have to get you anything.”

“We don’t do gifts anymore, Jacobi,” Kepler says softly.

“No time like the present to start a tradition,” Jacobi grins. It’s as fake as it is wide.  “Get it? Present?” his grin disappears and he floats closer to Kepler. “You owe me that. For christmas.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Jacobi leans back. “Then tell me you don’t miss christmases. Tell me you don’t miss cookies and blowing shit up.” Minkowski thinks she knows him well enough to hear the undertones, the _lie to me,_ underneath.

“No.” Kepler leans forward. “Those were wonderful, but they’re over now. They’re not coming back.”

“They could!”

Kepler stares at Jacobi. “Could they?” he says softly. “Could they really.”

Jacobi glares at him. “They could have. But now you broke it.”

“What’s ‘it’, Jacobi?”

A silence. “Me. Her. You. Us. You broke us.”

Kepler takes a deep breath, exhales shakily. “We were never an ‘us’, Jacobi.”

Eiffel snaps his fingers and they freeze. “How ‘bout we get away from these two. Leave them to their argument.”

He grabs her arm again, and they’re in a different part of the ship. Real-Eiffel is in one corner of the room, poking at Isabelle’s arm and biting his lip. Hera’s talking about something, and when Minkowski tunes in for a second, she hears the name ‘St. Nicholas’. They look restless. Eiffel keeps tapping his thigh.

Lovelace sighs, cutting off Hera. “Eiffel, if you want to sing something, just do so. It’s your birthday, do whatever.”

“But Minkowski-”

“How will Minkowski find out? She’s off on the bridge.”

“Hera will tell her,” Eiffel says, hushed.

“I will not,” Hera says, crackling and indignant.

“You will if she tells you to.”

“I can say no, Maxwell taught-” Hera stops.

“But it hurts. There’s no reason to for something like this.”

“It’s your _birthday. And Christmas._ ”

Lovelace stands up. “I’m going to go talk to Minkowski.”

“No, Captain, it’s fine.”

“No, Lieutenant, it’s not fine. And now I’m going to go talk to the Commander-”

Eiffel grabs her shoulder. “Lovelace, don’t.”

Spirit-Eiffel snaps his fingers, and everyone else freezes.

Minkowski stares. Spirit-Eiffel looks at her studiously.

“Why?” she asks.

Eiffel shrugs. “This is what happens later. I’m just the messenger.”

“That’s not what I want to happen,” Minkowski says.

“Maybe you can change that. I’m not here to give you the answers.”

“I just didn’t want to-” Minkowski sighs. “I just don’t like christmas. It hasn’t been a good day for me.”

Eiffel looks contemplative, staring at the frozen people. “That doesn’t mean it can’t be in the future, Minkowski.”

Minkowski’s face hardens. “I shouldn’t have to think about all of that just so they can sing stupid songs.”

Spirit-Eiffel nods solemnly. “Let’s get you back to your time. You should get some sleep before the last specter.”

“Ominous,” Minkowski mutters, and Eiffel takes her arm and brings her back to her quarters.

“The last one _is_ ominous. But you’re strong. You’re get through it.” The spirit of christmas present fades away, a look of worry on its face.

 

Minkowski doesn’t know when the last specter comes. The clock says it comes at 45:76 in the morning. That’s not a time.

Minkowski doesn’t know what the last specter looks like. It’s wearing an old Goddard uniform, but the hat is pulled low over its face. That’s not regulation.

It doesn’t talk, just grabs Minkowski’s shoulder.

Unlike the other times, when leaving her time was instantaneous, Minkowski gets a twisting sensation and flashes of bright color.

They’re in a different station. Fancier, shinier. The AI unit doesn’t stutter or crackle. Eiffel, Jacobi, and Lovelace are there, hands at their sides. Minkowski stands in front of them.

“Eiffel!” Future-Minkowski commands. “I need you to _do your job_.”

“Yes, Commander,” there’s an undertone: _please don’t hurt me, commander,_ and Eiffel scurries off.

“Jacobi, I want you to help him. Lord knows he can’t manage on his own.” Jacobi looks how he did under Kepler in those last few days before the mutiny, but colder. Broken.

“Sir, yes, sir.” Jacobi follows after Eiffel.

“Lovelace, you’re coming with me.”

“Yes, commander.” Lovelace nods perfectly: up and down, not a hint of side to side, and future-Minkowski smiles in satisfaction.

“We need to put a machine up outside the station.”  Future-Minkowski’s tone is conversational, but not friendly. Lovelace looks straightforward and nods perfectly again.

“Spirit, pause it,” actual-Minkowski asks, stepping forward toward the scene, “please.”

The spirit doesn’t do anything, and future-Minkowski continues briefing the silent Lovelace. She doesn’t seem bothered by the silence of her partner.

They reach the bridge. Future-Minkowski stops and turns to Lovelace. “Understand, darling?”

“Yes, Sir!” Lovelace stares straight ahead. Actual-Minkowski ducks her head and looks at the floor. _What the hell._

“Spirit, please- please can we see something else?”

The spirit obliges, grabs Minkowski’s shoulder, and the scene changes. The comms room. The comms room on this ship is better than on the Hephaestus, too. Newer technology- some that Minkowski hasn’t even seen before.

Jacobi and Eiffel sit on the two chairs in the comms room, chatting easily.

“Remember when-”

“ _Yeah_ I do!”

“And then-”

The AI’s voice comes through the speaker in the corner of the room. It’s not Hera’s- more androgynous, more melodic. “The commander will not be happy if you two don’t get to work, Eiffel.”

Eiffel sobers, breaks off his laughter. “You’re right. Thanks Her-Alex.” he ducks his head at the mistake, but no one acknowledges it.

They don’t get to work, but bow their heads, talking in a quiet murmur. Minkowski floats closer to hear.

“I’m glad Lovelace got stuck with her, not us,” Jacobi says.

Eiffel frowns exaggeratingly. “Talking ill of a superior officer? Naughty, Jacobi!”

Jacobi hushes him. “Shhh. Don’t want her hearing,” he jokes. Actual-Minkowski chuckles. _She is listening, Jacobi._

Jacobi’s tone changes. “In all seriousness, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen something like this.”

“Something like what?” Eiffel furrows his brow, looking nervous.

“Don’t pretend nothing’s happening, Eiffel. You know this is strange for her.”

“It isn’t anymore,” Eiffel says dejectedly. Minkowski winces.

“It’s still different. The same thing happened with Kepler.”

“Don’t- don’t _compare_ her to _him.”_

“Eiffel, you’re being unreasonable.”

“She’s done nothing wrong!”

“You’ve seen how she is now. Do you think that’s what she wants?”

Their voices rise. They’re almost shouting now. The AI unit tries in vain to hush them.

“Yes! I think it is what she wants! It sure _seems_ like it is, anyway!”

Jacobi takes a deep breath. “You might be right,” he concedes, lowering his voice again, “but we have to believe that you aren’t. We have to believe that she wants to be a good commander, because otherwise where are we?”

Eiffel peers at him. “Jacobi? Are you oka-” his gaze drifts up past Jacobi’s head and widen in horror. “C-commander!”

For a moment, Minkowski thinks he’s seen her, and she’s about to respond, but she hears someone talk behind her in her voice.

“Officers,” says future Minkowski, her voice hard.

Actual Minkowski turns to the scepter. “I don’t want to see this, I don’t want to be this take me back please.”

Silence. The scene is frozen, and slowly dissolves away.

“Please,” Minkowski begs. “I don’t want-” she falls to her knees and closes her eyes. She doesn’t want that to happen, doesn’t want to be like Kepler, doesn't want to be _worse_ than Kepler, doesn’t want- she cracks open her eyes.

The spirit cocks it’s head. Minkowski shifts and looks at the ground. She can’t see its eyes, but its gaze is still uncomfortable.

It grabs her shoulder, pulling her up, and they’re back her quarters.

“G-goodnight,” Minkowski thinks she says. She might have fallen over, or she might have shaken the spirit’s hand. She doesn’t remember.

 

When Minkowski wakes up in the morning, she’s laying against the ceiling with a strong memory of everything that happened the night before and the spirit of christmas future’s hat hooked on the doorknob.

She rubs her temples and takes a deep breath, then pushes off the wall, floating slowly down the main hallway. She stops into Eiffel’s quarters, where he and Jacobi are telling about past christmases, Jacobi slung lazily over a chair. Minkowski grins brightly. “Merry Christmas! And happy birthday, Eiffel! I’m afraid I don’t have presents, but I’ll see you in the mess hall at 9:30 for a singing competition!”

Eiffel stares. Jacobi grins delightedly, then smothers his delight with a vaguely amused smile. Minkowski gets it. Gotta keep up that mildly entertained facade. “Can’t wait to hear you sing, Commander.”

“You too, Officer,” she says, and bounces down to Lovelace’s quarters, knocking on the door.

She hears frantic scrambling from the other side. “One second, Ren, just gotta get my, uh, stuff, and then I’ll be right to the bridge, one sec-” Minkowski cracks open the door.

“You have the day off today,” Minkowski says matter-of-factly. Lovelace stops, her shirt half-on.

“Sorry, what? I thought we had stuff to do?”

Minkowski laughs. “It’s christmas, darling, I’m not going to make you work.”

Lovelace narrows her eyes. Minkowski continues, “Except for the singing competition later. But you wouldn’t want to miss Jacobi singing ‘Jingle Bell Rock’, would you?”

“But… what about the plans?” Lovelace pulls on her shirt and straightens it.

Minkowski floats over and curls against her girlfriend’s chest. “I had a…” she pauses, closes her eyes, “revelation.”

Lovelace pulls her away and stares at her, then grins and kisses her. “Well, I’m glad you did. I’m always happy to see Eiffel and Jacobi humiliated,” she says when Minkowski pulls away.

Minkowski raises her eyebrows. “Make no mistake, you have to sing too.”

Lovelace groans, scooping up Minkowski and carrying her down the hall to get coffee.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”


End file.
